


Cracked Eggshells

by WizardsGirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: AU, Anything and everything my Prompters can think of, Anything goes - Freeform, Death, Dragon Shenanigans, Dragon/Human, Eggs, F/F, F/M, Feels, Flirting, Gen, Het, Language, M/M, OC, Slash, Tears, Violence, ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardsGirl/pseuds/WizardsGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of a bunch of HP/Temeraire One/Two/Three-Shots. Accepting Prompts, anything goes, and yes, I do mean ANYTHING, INCLUDING Harry/Ginny (Shudders) Read the A/N to get a heads up, Warnings provided under the title of each chapter. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Problems of Animagus Proportions (PT 1)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter or Temeraire.
> 
> Just so we're totally clear on that.
> 
> There MAY be, within the Warnings at the top of EACH SEPERATE POSTING:
> 
> Slash
> 
> Het
> 
> Dragon Shenanigans
> 
> Violence
> 
> Allusions to:
> 
> Child Abuse
> 
> Rape
> 
> Character Death
> 
> Past Relationships of the top two options.
> 
> Mpreg
> 
> RegPreg (AKA Regular Pregnancy, meaning FEMALE PREGNANCY)
> 
> Genderswapping
> 
> Crack
> 
> Angst (Like Whoa) ((Been wanting to say that for SOOOO long now...))
> 
> Rebirth
> 
> Explosions
> 
> Naughty Language
> 
> AND
> 
> A plethora of AU-ness, OOCness, OC's and whatever else I and/or you can come up with.
> 
> I AM accepting Prompts for this fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Now, on to the Story!

Problems of Animagus Proportions  
(Summery: Harry is a dragon animagus and ends up in the Temeraire world in dragon-form. There he causes all sorts of trouble when he transforms back into human shape. “Oh, bloody hell.”  
Time Period: After DH (EWE), During His Majesty's Dragon.  
Prompter: HiddenByFaeries  
Warnings: Dragon Shenanigans, Harry Mind-Fucking People, Flirting, Cursing, Kissing, and Slash. Was also supposed to be Overwhelmed!Laurence, but ended up being Overwhelmed...well...Everyone.  
Apologies To: England, for my failure at a British accent of any sort, and any/all slang. The French, for all the Slurs that I type in, though I believe that should be excused since it's the Napoleon War, but, anyways, Sorry. All Hard Core Temeraire and Harry Potter fans, since I am exercising my rite as an authoress and making half-if not all-the characters OOC. Yeah...  
Sorry!)

Harry tumbled through Space and Time and Magic, tumbled being the operative world. 'Really,' he thought to himself as he went from baby to old man to toddler to his actual age of twenty-eight. 'If they wanted to get rid of me, they could of at least given me the courtesy of a “by your leave”, or perhaps even their name!' For you see, Harry had been minding his own business, walking around Diagon Alley having a snark with Head Auror Draco Malfoy, when some Wizard came flying out of Knockturn, cackling like mad, and threw a green, slimy... thing at him, which had sent him into his current predicament, tumbling. 

'Could be worse, of course,' he thought as he somersaulted from human to his animagus form, a Ukrainian Ironbelly dragon. 'Could be painful-Oh, look, I'm outside again,' he mused, blinking his now-dark-red eyes through the thick clouds his dark gray hide melding easily as he spread his large wings and glided. Tilting his head at the sound of battle down below, he carefully glided downwards and stuck his head out of the bottom cloud cover, and blinked, marveling at the sight below him. Men on dragons, fighting. And, dragons, who were apparently French by the look of their flags, attempting to... invade? Yes, attempting to invade England with what looked like boats, which some were carrying...

“I think I'm going to like this place,” he mused, and then blinked, startled but pleased, as he spoke aloud in English, as opposed to the strange, hissing Dragontongue he'd gotten used to whenever he was in this form. “Well,” he mused once he'd gotten over that small delight. “Suppose I should go and help my countrymen, hmm? 'Tis only proper and all that rot.” Shifting slightly, he glided until he was directly over one of the “flying ships” and, with a feral grin, dropped.

“Whoooo-hoooooo!” He howled, cackling as the dragons below him panicked, but were unable to stop his plunge. Pointed head-first, his large horns slammed through the light wood and metal, breaking it easily, and the rest of his massive bulk crashed on through simply enough after that. Still cackling, he flared his wings, body sling-shotting forward, tail smacking some smaller French dragon tail-over-teakettle as Harry set himself to rights.

“Well, that was fun!” He declared cheerfully, and flapped his wings firmly, spiraling up until he came to be side-by-side with a good-sized red-and-gold dragon that was only smaller than him by some sixty feet and thirty tons. “'Ello, mate! Fancy you a bit of Frog Catching?” Harry quipped cheerfully, grinning. 

“Er, yeah, I suppose,” the Gryffindor-esque dragon replied in a way that reminded Harry keenly of his friend Ron.

“Right, then,” he replied happily. “Tally-ho!” He flipped upside down slowly, and then barreled down towards the dragons that were below him. He clipped two on his way down, and kept on going aimed straight for the French ship that was unlucky enough to have caught his sight. Grinning, he took a deep breath, and roared at the ship just as he flared his wings. Instantly, a massive gout of flames exploded from his maw as he glided over it in the worlds most explosively spectacular Wronski Feint ever.

“And the crowd goes wild!” He cheered, making his slow way back up, panting slightly. Alright, being the largest breed of dragon in his world was pretty amazing. Being nearly three times the normal length of the natural breed was fantastic. Being the slowest flying of the dragons, ever, was neither amazing nor fantastic. He had better stamina than most his breed, sure, but he still took forever to get places.

“Ha, ha!” He cried once he flew through the panicking chaos and found himself again next to the Gryffindor-Dragon. “Take that, then! Try and invade my country!” He shook his head mockingly at the French dragons who were looking at him nervously, his large horns gleaming. He turned a grin to his gawping companion. “So, what's your name, then? Mine's Harry!” 

“Maximus,” he replied a little faintly, eyes huge, and Harry grinned slyly. 

“Well, then, Maxie, tell me,” he leaned his head close, grinning still, red eyes bright with mischief. “Have you ever played Keep Away with a Frog?” He laughed happily, and slowly backwinged. “All you have to do is catch!” He bellowed, and, so saying, dove down and quickly caught one of the small French dragons, who squawked and struggled in his claws. Harry cheerfully flew back up and wiggled his prize at the other dragon, teeth bared. “See? It's easy! Course, you might have a tougher time of it, since you're smaller than I am, but it should still be simple...” He shifted the little white-striped blue dragon to one claw and used the other to scratch his slightly bloody chest as the men on the dragons back shot at him.

“You are all determined to get away, aren't you?” he asked them curiously, poking at them like a child might poke at an angry kitten, not minding the tiny scratches. “Hum, and this one's wearing a different coat and everything!” He quickly pulled the little man in the green coat off the dragons back, making him (it smelled like a male) cry out and go still, a look of anguish on his face. “Come now, what's that look for?” Harry asked, confused. “I just want a bit of a closer look is all! It's not like I'm going to eat him or something!” He shook his head and carefully lifted the tiny form up close, peering at him curiously as the man clung to his talon with a snow-pale face. 

“Hello!” He said simply, smiling. The man stuttered out a weak Bonjour in response. Harry nodded, and carefully set the man back on his dragon. “There now,” he said as the shivering creature all but mewled his relief and the man quickly secured himself back onto the saddle. Carefully, Harry held his palm out, keeping it steady until the little dragon had his wings steady and able to support him again. “Ta, luvs!” He said cheerfully, wiggling his claws and turning to fly lazily away, towards another of the “flying ship”. Maximus had abandoned him to his little game, and so Harry casually set a ship on fire before smashing through it, and then set about trying to capture another dragon.

When he caught a small silver-blue dragon with black and blue markings, he was startled to be shouted at.

“We're English!” the man wearing a green coat shouted through a strange trumpet, even as the smaller dragon trembled, eyes rolling in terror like a horse.

“Oh!” Harry said, but didn't release them, he just cocked his head to the side. “Well, hello then! My name's Harry, what's yours?” 

“N-N-N-Nitidus,” the little dragon stuttered out. “C-c-c-could you p-p-please...?” Harry blinked.

“Oh, yes, of course!” He said, and quickly uncurled his fingers, keeping his hand steady until the little dragon got his bearings and could fly properly (Harry said “hands” and “palm” and “fingers” and such, but, in reality, he still only had two feet, with his arms turned into wings. He was very much a Wyvern, like nearly all the dragons of his world.). “I apologize, I don't get to see other dragons up close very much, you see,” he said honestly. “They've got the habit of fleeing at the sight of me and, well, I'm a bit too tactile as well as curious.” He smiled. “ Ah, I'll just... Carry on then, shall I? Pleasure meeting you, Nitidus, little army men! Ta!” Harry wheeled about and dove down below the fighting dragons to set another ship on fire, trying to cover his embarrassment. 

Hermione had been complaining non-stop that, after he had gained his animagus form, he had been very uninhibited and tended to do rude things that didn't seem rude until after he did them, and then only vaguely. According to Ron's brother Charlie, it was because Ironbellies did as they pleased, bugger the consequences, and very little could actually upset them, unless it went directly against whatever they were doing at the time. So, the dragon at Gringotts? It was guarding because, well, reasons it knew, and anyone who tried to get past it were in direct opposition and so... Dinner!

He blinked as he was hit in the face by a cannonball, a spiked cannonball, that now saw fit to get stuck in the flesh of his cheekbone. Slowly, he turned his head towards the offending ship, and narrowed his eyes in an obvious show of his displeasure.

“That,” he declared loudly, flapping his wings so that he rose a bit, “was definitely rude.” He snarled, and, from his place of about a hundred meters, spat out another massive gout of flame, pushing his magic into it so it would reach the ship, which it did, and then some, setting the whole thing aflame. Huffing out a sharp puff of smoke, Harry turned and made his slow way up into the air, not even trying to get the cannonball out, as he would only make a fool of himself at the moment. Spotting a golden-toned dragon with British flags getting cornered, he flew up to the rescue, smacking one of the small French dragons away with his tail and baring his teeth at the other two, who quickly sped away.

“I'm in a foul mood now,” he grumbled, and turned his eyes onto the small female, pausing. “Would you be a dear,” he started, and gave her the best puppy-dog-eyes he could. “Could you pull the cannonball out of my cheek, luv? I'd truly appreciate it.” She blinked up at him, startled, but then, bemused, nodded and moved forward as he shifted his head so she could reach it. It took some tugging and making funny expressions to loosen the muscle, but, finally, she pulled it out and threw it at an enemy dragon, making them squawk and tumble downward. 

“Good shot!” Harry praised; the dragon preened. “My name's Harry.”

“I'm Messoria, pleasure to meet you, Harry,” she replied. “Best get back to fighting, though.” Harry looked around, and took in the fleeing French, and the large, sinuous black dragon that had just, apparently, torn apart a “flying ship” with pure sound. “Oh,” Messoria muttered, blinking; Harry nodded back. 

“Who's that fellow, then?” Harry asked, jerking his head towards the decidedly Asian-looking dragon.

“Oh, that's Temeraire,” she told him as the two of them started flying towards land. “He's a Chinese Imperial.”

“Ah, that explains it, then,” Harry said, nodding to himself. “He looked like an Eastern breed.”

“Oh?” Messoria asked, looking curious. “Have you seen many Eastern breeds?” Harry wagged his head from side-to-side in a so-so manner.

“Never knew any names,” he said simply. “They all have a bit of the same look about their noses and bodies, however. Just like all of the United Kingdom breeds share similarities, and all French breeds. Size and color may change a dragon, but a good majority of us look similar to the stock we were bred from.” She nodded thoughtfully, and soon all the British dragons were landing, well away from the still fighting militia.

“Hello,” Temeraire greeted him, rather pretty turquoise eyes eying Harry with quite a bit of fascination. “I'm Temeraire, and this is my Captain, Laurence,” he gestured to the blond man in a green coat, and Harry placed his wing-claws on the ground and set his face close, tilting his head so his large, red eye could peer at the small man, who looked decidedly discouraged.

“Well then,” he said with a note a fascination. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Temeraire and Laurence. Tell me, what does the green coat mean? I've been mighty curious about that.” Laurence gave him an uncomfortable, uncertain look under his staring, and Temeraire shifted, nervous and starting to feel possessive.

“It marks him as my Captain,” Temeraire informed Harry primly, and wrapped his foreclaws around the man, pulling him away. Harry hummed, and sat up again, curling his wings close and cocking his head in a distinctly bird-like fashion.

“Right load of rubbish that is,” he said easily, amused as the dragons around him stiffened slightly, feeling slighted. “Why on earth would you mark someone of command so blatantly? Are they trying to paint a target upon the Captains backs? Really now, the entire crew, captain and all, should wear the same uniform, and the Captain should just have the two gold bars as a signature of his station. Much harder to see, and substitutes and decoys can more easily be made.” They were all staring at him now, and he rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath about governments putting non-fighters in control of parliament and non-dragons in charge of dragons.

“This is why I don't work for the bloody government,” Harry declared, startling the dragons with his sudden inclusion of them in his rant. “They try to bugger you in the worst of ways, all subtle, and without even the courtesy of buying a bloke a drink first!” 

“Dear Lord,” Laurence choked, face red. The heavy-set fellow that was, apparently, Maximus' Captain, started laughing raucously, and Harry cast him an appraising glance.

“'Ello, there,” he said, giving the man a once over as he settled on the ground, gasping only slightly. “What's your name, mate?” 

“Matthew Berkley, you great beast,” the man replied, booming voice easily heard, and Harry cocked his head sharply, before nodding. Then, in front of all and sundry, with a shimmer of silver and white lights, Harry transformed into his human self, directly in front of the Captain. His hair was silver now, his eyes red, and his once round face was now pointier, giving him a fox-like appearance when he grinned slyly, as he was now. His trousers were black and ripped only a bit, but his white dress-shirt was in shambles, covered in blood, and he had a small, bloody wound on his cheek.

“Well, Captain Berkley,” he said easily, ignoring the numb shock that seemed to have taken hold of, well, everyone. “My name's Harry.” And then, without so much as a 'by your leave', he kissed the man right on the mouth, before turning and padding away. “Ta, luvs! I'm off to the nearest doctor to get these bullets out!” He left the entire clearing in a sort of disbelieving, stunned silence.

“Was he just-” Laurence started.

“Yes,” Temeraire replied uncertainly, eyes wide and frills flared in a show of nerves.

“And did he just-”

“Yes.”

“Oh Lord.”

Berkley remained silent, one hand up and touching his mouth. Finally, slowly, he blinked, and then fainted dead away.

Laurence dearly wished he could join him.


	2. Problems of Animagus Proportions 2: Unrepentant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a continuation of POAP! Enjoy!
> 
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> Jostanos Said: YOU PASS! FLAWLESS VICTORY_  
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Problems of Animagus Proportions 2:  
Unrepentant  
(Summery: Now that they've caught his interest, Harry isn't about to leave Temeraire and his flight alone.  
Time Period: After DH (EWE), Between His Majesty's Dragon and Throne of Jade.  
Prompter: HiddenByFaeries  
Warnings: Dragon Shenanigans, Harry Mind-Fucking People, Overwhelmed!Everyone, Stalking, Language, Transformations, Flirting, Kissing, and Slash.  
Apologies: To Britain, again, for my failure at British accents and slang. To the Hard Core Temeraire and Harry Potter fans, for all the OOCness. To the readers of my other Fics, who are getting their pitchforks and lynching supplies together to just say “Fuck it” and get rid of me once an for all.  
Sorry you guys!)

Berkley was being driven to distraction, and it was all to do with that red-eyed bastard. Harry was everywhere Berkley went, following him around with that sly grin on   
his face, and the Captain was getting to the point where he was going to say “Damn it all” and just shoot the irritating beast in his smug face.   
Harry, of course, knew this. It was probably why he followed Berkley around and stared at him and smiled and just made the man uncomfortable. He was bloody adorable when angry and embarrassed and just that little bit flattered. And especially when he was confused! And besides, it wasn't like Harry was hurting anyone! He left the man alone when he was training with his men and Maximus, and he didn't follow him on patrols. It was when he was on the ground that he became Harry's quarry.

“You're making him upset,” Temeraire chided Harry hesitantly once he was returned to his Ironbelly form. Harry gave an amused sound.

“I can't help it if I find him cute when he's flustered,” Harry replied magnanimously. “And kissing is very nice.”

“Is it?” the newly discovered Chinese Celestial asked, frill lifting with interest. Harry had been keeping the other dragon company, since he was forbidden to see Laurence by the Admirals in charge, and was, essentially, “grounded” in the truest sense of the word.

“It's very nice,” Harry told him firmly; the black dragon settled down slightly, looking thoughtful, before turning his pretty blue eyes onto Harry with intense scrutiny. Harry wasn't uncomfortable, however, because he recognized such looks from when Hermione and Luna got something into their head and were trying to figure it out... Actually, the Celestial reminded him of his two friends quite a bit. Just like Maximus reminded him of Ron, and Nitidus of Neville, and Messoria reminded him of Katie Bell of all people. Lily, the acid-spitting Longwing that was the main point-dragon of Temeraire's Flight, reminded Harry rather forcefully of Ginny, only without the hair-trigger temper... Or, actually, much of a temper at all, come to think of it... Immortalis, another Yellow Reaper like Messoria, reminded him of Dean for some reason, and the final member of the Flight, a Grey Copper named Dulcia, made him think of Hannah Abbot. 

“Will you teach me?” Temeraire asked suddenly, pulling Harry from his rambling thoughts.

“Teach you what?” He asked.

“To become human.” Harry paused and eyed the other dragon, pursing his lips as much as he could in this form. Dragons, in this world or any other, were innately magic. A dragon becoming a human wasn't too unheard of in his world, and there were probably myths or legends about it here. All it required was a strong will and patience to practice.

“It will take time,” he cautioned; Temeraire nodded sharply, eyes gleaming and frill erect with excitement. Harry smirked and fluttered his wings a bit. “Well, my friend, let's get to work then, shall we?”

It took two weeks for Temeraire to master his human transformation.

Two.

Weeks.

What took the Marauders three years, and Harry himself one, took two weeks for the genius dragon.

“Bloody, buggering show-off,” the Ironbelly Animagus grumbled to himself as he crossed his arms over his chest, watching Temeraire study his new form with fascination. He took after his Chinese decent, with long black hair Harry had braided back for him while he was unconscious from his first transformation, golden skin, and slanted eyes that remained that startlingly bright blue. He had come wearing black robes, with blue swirling designs along the hems, and around his neck was a silver chain, with a fist-sized silver plate and a pearl that rested in its center, imitating the breast plate he'd been given by Laurence. 

“Oh, this is so strange!” The Celestial-turned-human declared, stumbling about awkwardly and trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“You've got it harder than I did, I suppose,” Harry remarked, looking slightly amused now. “I still only have two legs. I just lost my wings and gained arms. S'alright, though!” He grinned and wiggled his fingers. “Thumbs make up for it!” immediately, Temeraire began fiddling with is fingers, blue eyes wide and fascinated. Harry chuckled.

“...Do you think Laurence will like it?” He suddenly asked, turning uncertain eyes to Harry, who blinked, before his face softened. He padded forward and set his hands gently on the others shoulders, making Temeraire blink twice at the strange feeling.

“Laurence will be at an utter loss of words, sweatheart,” he said kindly. “You'll stun him with your looks alone, and when he finally realizes what you've accomplished? It will be magnificent.” He smiled warmly, and Temeraire beamed, his entire face lighting up. He then proceeded to throw his arms around Harry, babbling 'thank-you!' over and over again, and Harry grinned. 'Yeah, he's definitely a mix of Hermione and Luna,' he thought fondly, patting the Celestial's back.

“You should probably turn back now, luv,” he told the other gently. “Those poncy gits from China are probably going to come and bother you again.” Instantly, a dark scowl curled across Temeraire's features. He grumbled, but did as suggested, transforming in a bunch of blue and black, bubble-like orbs, until he was laying, sprawled lazily, in his dragon form, his tail tip twitching like an annoyed cat's, his blue eyes narrowed. Harry grinned and transformed as well, flapping his wings to get some feeling into them as he perched next to the serpentine dragon.

“Have you ever heard of rock-paper-scissors?” he asked, and grinned as the dragons foul mood immediately switched for curiosity. “Here, I'll teach you...”

When Prince Yongxing, his two assistants, and Lord Barham, arrived at the clearing, the two dragons were arguing loudly about the game.

“I just don't understand!” Temeraire cried, shaking his head. “How can paper defeat rock?!” 

“I don't bloody know, I didn't invent the game!” Harry cried, throwing his wings in the air in exasperation. He sighed and shook his head while Temeraire sent him a slightly distressed look. “Alright, think of it like this. Paper is for tactics, rock is for power, and scissors is for politics. Political tactics are sometimes the most damaging, so scissors beat paper, but without power your politics will be pathetic, so rock beats scissors. Now, great tactics don't necessarily need power, because, if you can maneuver a more powerful opponent into a weaker position, than you beat him, so-”

“Paper beats rock!” Temeraire declared, delighted; Harry threw his wings up again.

“There you go!” He sighed, and rubbed his wing-claw over his nose. “Bloody hell, you smart people make my brain hurt.” He turned and blinked at the four humans now staring at them, the only Englishmen amongst them gawping inelegantly. “Oh!” Harry said, and placed his face next to the ground, claws digging in slightly as he turned his head, large red eye peering at them in fascination. “So, that's what a prince looks like?” He eyed Yongxing for a few moments more in curiosity, and then shifted his gaze to the, now-pale, Lord Barham. “Hmm,” he said, unimpressed by the so called “Lord”. He straightened up and shuffled backwards until he was next to the much-smaller Celestial dragon, and gestured at the other dragon graciously.

“I'm bored with them,” he told Temeraire cheerfully, and then turned his attention to a bird nest in a nearby tree. Casting Harry a glance that clearly stated he doubted the other dragons sanity, Temeraire turned to talk to the humans. Harry didn't pay much attention to what they were saying, as the mother bird took offense to his peeping and began screeching at him and fluttering about his head. Harry instinctively backed up a step and turned, head following the little bird in amused fascination as it dive-bombed his snout, again and again, so small he didn't even really feel it. He snapped his teeth at it a few times for fun, before Temeraire's roar, something filled with the Divine Wind (that pure sound that had torn the “flying ship” to pieces) sent him falling backwards into the trees. 

“Bloody, buggering fuck!” Harry shouted, and tried to get up, but his wings weren't meant for that, and he ended up thrashing about comically for a few minutes before deciding “Bugger it” and transforming. Climbing over fallen trees and pulling twigs from his clothes and hair, Harry returned to the clearing just in time for Laurence to show up. Temeraire's head snapped up and away from the Prince, blue eyes brimming with emotion as they locked on his Captain. Immediately, he took a step and transformed, until it was a very human Temeraire that was throwing his arms around Laurence's neck and babbling at him and whimpering and pressing nuzzling kisses to his throat and cheeks. Harry could only grin as the color drained from the Princes face in his shock, mouth open slightly, and the Ironbelly Animagus padded over to pat the man on the shoulder, making his head snap jerkily to the side to look at him. 

“Took him two weeks to learn how to do it,” he informed the Prince easily. “Took me a whole year, and my father and his Flight three all together. But, none of my family are prodigies or geniuses, so,” he shrugged, grinned at the Prince again, and padded over to the only-now recovering Laurence and the still cuddling Temeraire. 

“He learned it for you,” Harry informed the Captain, clapped a hand on his back and patted Temeraire's head, before he walked away, whistling a tune cheerfully. He was going to find Berkley and ask the man if he wanted to kiss all of Harry's new bruises, and then he was going to kiss the man anyway. Harry glanced up at the sky, guessing at the time.

Berkley should be in Maximus' clearing by now...

When he arrived to see that they were preparing for battle, Harry could only sigh and give Berkley one hard kiss for luck, before he went to join them.

No rest for the wicked, he supposed, and flew readily into battle alongside the snickering Maximus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-Da!!! This is going to be a three-shot, me and Faeries decided, so one more to go!


	3. Problems of Animagus Proportions Pt 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Third and Final Part of POAP!!  
> ENJOY!!
> 
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> mist shadow Said: well, I guess insanity finally caught up with Harry, though I rather like this kind of insanity - it's fun. well, for yourself, not for those around, but still, oh well, having fun and laughs yourself is quite important, can't satisfy everyone after all, and this way you at least don't lose anything  
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**Problems of Animagus Proportions 3:**

**Responsibility**

_( Summery: Temeraire's off on his personal adventure, but his Flight and Harry have problems of their own._

_ Time Period: _ _After DH (EWE), During Throne of Jade but not with Temeraire._

_ Prompter: _ _**HiddenByFaeries**_

**_ Warnings: _ ** _Death, Disease, Dragon Shenanigans, Harry Mind-Fucking People, Hurt/Comfort, Transformations, Fluff, Slash, and Language._

_ Apologies: _ _To Britain, for failure at British Accents/slang. To Doctors, for any offense they get from this. To the faint of heart, who have probably already passed out just from the warnings... And hit their heads on the way down._

_Yeah..._

_Sorry about that!)_

 

“What is he doing?” Temeraire asked Laurence with a slightly alarmed look on his face, something Laurence still marveled at (the being able to make an expression bit, that is. Not the face part... Though, the fact that Temeraire had a _human face_ , and human _body_ , was still something that stunned Laurence every time he saw it.).

“I haven't the faintest of ideas,” Laurence replied, turning his eyes back to watch the resident silver-haired mischief-maker poke and prod all over Maximus' rather large form.

“If he buggers something up with this nonsense, I'll shoot him myself,” Berkley growled from Laurence's other side, arms crossed over his chest as his dark blue eyes remained locked on the darting form of his personal menace. Laurence blinked as Temeraire suddenly hid his face into his neck, giggling madly. The Captain craned his head downward, eyebrows arched in curiosity, as those bright blue eyes, just as expressive as they had been before, peeked up at him from around his neck-cloth.

“Pray, tell me dear, what is funny?” the blonde asked; Temeraire giggled again.

“Berkley likes Harry,” Temeraire told him, smiling sweetly. “But Harry says he is too stubborn and shy to act on it.” Laurence blinked and tilted his head to look at his fellow Captain, who was gaping at the Celestial-turned-human, before sputtering.

“What the devil are you on about?!” Berkley shouted; Temeraire grinned at him, and shook his head.

“I definitely believe Harry was right,” he said, nodding firmly, before giving a throaty purr and cuddling more firmly into Laurence's side, and pulling the Captains arm around him, making Laurence look uncertainly pleased and slightly embarrassed.

“Done!” Harry's shout pulled the three's attention back to him and Maximus, and they watched as he took several large steps away, rubbed his hands together, and then lifted them palms out towards the large Regal Copper, a look of concentration on his face. After a few seconds, they noticed a glowing light surrounding his hands, which became brighter and brighter, until a large white and silver ball was held over Harry's head. He grunted, heaved backwards, and _flung_ the ball at Maximus, who tried to rear in surprise, but it was too late, and the ball collided. In seconds, Maximus was swallowed, the silver and white light turning red and gold, and forming the same glowing bubbles that surrounded Temeraire's form whenever he transformed.

Seconds passed, and the glowing form of Maximus shrank, until, finally, the bubbles disappeared and all that was left was an unconscious man, lying on the ground. He had dark red hair and tanned skin, broad shoulders, and looked to be about six-foot-five. He was wearing a red button-up shirt, darker red trousers, and a dark gold coat.

“By God,” Berkley breathed; Laurence could only nod slowly, gawping.

“Harry!” Temeraire cried, alarmed; the two Captains heads snapped away from Maximus to see that Harry had collapsed, Temeraire ( _'When did he move?'_ Laurence wondered idly) already beside him and holding him up in a sitting position. The Captains hurried over and they could tell that the dragon-in-human-form was exhausted, his skin pale and eyes listless.

“Ta, luv,” Harry said weakly, flicking his hands limply at Temeraire. “'Tisn't anything to worry yourself into a tizzy about. Just used too much power in one go, s'all. Be fine 'n th'mornin'...” So saying, the Ironbelly Animagus promptly passed out, making Temeraire cry out in alarm.

“Laurence! Laurence, what's happening?!” Temeraire asked, and Laurence quickly knelt beside him, meeting those distressed blue eyes and stroking a hand down Temeraire's braid and back in a soothing manner.

“He's passed out, dear, that's all,” he said as comfortingly as he could. Temeraire whimpered lowly, and cuddled Harry close, looking up at Laurence pitifully.

“What should we do?” he asked; Laurence hesitated and Berkley growled off to the side, where he was pulling Maximus to his feet.

“You lot stay here,” he ordered, scowling. “I'll take the blighter back to the Covert and take him to his room.” He scowled darkly, but Laurence could see the concern in his eyes, so he nodded and pulled Temeraire away, and then helped lift Harry into Berkley's large arms while Temeraire hesitantly moved over to help Maximus get used to his human form.

Berkley trudged out of the clearing and towards the Covert, frowning slightly to himself. Despite the fact that Harry, as a dragon, was bloody _massive_ , as a human he seemed... _delicate_ , almost. He wasn't much shorter than Laurence was, but he was _slender_ and, curled up, pale and fragile looking in Berkley's arms, he weighed a few stones lighter than the Captain thought was healthy. Expression slowly getting darker and darker, Berkley stalked through the halls, Captains and crew members dodging out of his way with wide eyes as he carried Harry through rooms and hallways, until he reached his personal room. Once inside, he carefully laid the prone male down and then, just as gently, covered him with a blanket. Nodding, Berkley turned to leave.

“Matthew,” Harry's voice croaked suddenly; Berkley blinked and turned back, to find himself meeting those wine-red eyes. “Have th' Surgeons check Maxie. That cold wasn't a cold. It was a disease.” Berkley felt lightheaded, suddenly, due to all the blood leaving his face in a rush.

“What?” He whispered; Harry nodded weakly, breath shallow.

“Dragon Pox,” he croaked. “Spot's 'n the tongue, flu-like symptoms, but makes your magic wonky, makes it start shuttin' down your systems. Bloody _hard_ to kill,” he muttered. “Less you got a Behemoth Mushroom, but those grown in Africa, 'n are a right bastard to gather... Should've gotten it all with m'magic,” he slurred out, head lolling backwards into the pillow, eyes half-shut. “'Urt like bloody hell, though...”

“Why?” Berkley breathed; Harry blinked groggily, and lifted his head with difficulty, in order to give the Captain a weak imitation of his usual, sly grin.

“'Cause he's important to you,” Harry told him. “And I never want you hurt.” Still smiling, he flopped down and closed his eyes. “Go 'way now. M'gonna sleep...” And, so saying, he passed out again. Berkley stared, stunned, for several minutes, before he mechanically left the room, shutting the door behind him, and went to find a Surgeon, whom he then took to check Maximus out. Maximus complained the whole time, having just discovered how to use his legs properly and wanting to move about, but stayed in his seat, pouting, under Berkley's gruff growl.

“Well, he's got a fever, but it's already fading pretty fast,” the Surgeon announced, poking about at Maximus' large chest. “A bit of congestion in his lungs, but that'll soon be gone too, as much as I can tell.” He straightened and shrugged slightly. “Otherwise, he's in good health. A little overweight-” he ignored Maximus' insulted squawk with practiced ease “-but not enough to threaten his health. Better food and some bed-rest, and he'll be right as rain in a few days time.” Berkley gruffly thanked the Surgeon, and watched as he walked out of the clearing, before grabbing Maximus into a bone-creaking hug.

“Oomph!” was all the Regal Copper-in-human-form managed, orange eyes huge as he awkwardly patted his Captain's back.

“Berkley?” Laurence asked, looking concerned as Temeraire cuddled once more under his arm.

“It was a disease,” Berkley informed them, voice hoarse and strained. “That blasted cold. Something called Dragon Pox. Harry wasn't sure if he got it all or not, and if he hadn't... Bloody Hell,” he muttered, and hid his face in Maximus' shoulder while his dragon continued to awkwardly pat his back, blinking.

“Well, I'm alright now, aren't I?” the Regal Copper demanded; Berkley gave a sharp nod and finally pulled back. “Than there's nothing to worry about!” he continued cheerfully, smiling. He turned and grinned at Laurence and Temeraire. “And Temeraire promised he would show me all the things he's learned when I became human, and it sounds interesting enough.” Temeraire's eyes lit up and he started babbling while Laurence shifted over to stand beside Berkley while the Captain composed himself.

“Except for kissing, but that's really nice,” Temeraire said, jerking Laurence's and Berkley's eyes and attention to the two.

“If it's nice, why can't you teach me then?” Maximus demanded, looking confused.

“It's rude to kiss someone the fun way if you're not interested in a romantic relationship,” the Celestial said primly. “...Well, that's what Harry told me, at least, and he seems to know quite a bit about being human, so I shall believe him.”

“If you only kiss the fun way with your romantic interest,” Maximus started, “than how do you know it's nice?” Temeraire blinked and tilted his head.

“I've kissed Laurence, and it was rather nice,” he replied simply, and Laurence's face went bright red as Berkley shot him a surprised, amused look, his earlier fear gone now that the crisis was over.

“Well, then explain other things to me,” Maximus demanded, and Temeraire agreed.

Hours later, Berkley returned to his room to find Harry still there, now shirtless and sitting on the side of the bed, scratching sleepily at the bullet-scars that peppered his hairless chest like little bee-stings of pale pink tissue.

“'Ello, luv,” he greeted sleepily; Berkley silently nodded, and closed the door behind him. “I'm guessing Maxie's alright, then?”

“Surgeon say's he's fine,” Berkley grunted, yanking off a boot after sitting down in the only chair. Harry cocked his head and watched him curiously. “Buggers got a bit of extra weight about his belly, but he's fine.” Harry stood and moved over to the seated Captain, who was having difficulty with his remaining boot. Silently, the silver-haired man knelt and neatly began untying it, and didn't mind it when Berkley's hand hesitantly rested on his head. Pulling the boot from the Captain's foot, he stood, finding himself between the seated man's knees, looking down into his eyes as the hand that had been on his head rested on his hip, thumb slowly rubbing the skin in the dip of his hip. Harry's grin widened slowly into a warm smile, and he leaned down and gently kissed the man, and felt a warm, happy thrill when Berkley kissed _back_.

Slowly, they parted, and Harry rested his forehead against the Captains, both of them breathing deeper than before.

“Come to bed, Matthew,” Harry murmured; Berkley stared into his eyes for a few seconds, before his lips quirked up into a small smile.

“Alright, you nagging bastard,” he replied; Harry grinned and pulled the man out of the chair and towards the bed, which they would christen that night for the first time, and many nights to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally got around to adding this chapter, sorry for the wait!!


	4. Green Yarn Necklace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> : I hate the Anon that asked for this one. I'm just saying.
> 
> Best Review:  
> Kiaranassimu Said:  
> Oh my. This was brilliant. Do continue! Temeraire human must be adorable 
> 
> My Reply:   
> He DOES sound friggin adorable, doesn't he??? Well, now he has Laurence to snuggle, lolz!
> 
> Featured Flame:  
> None Yet

**Green Yarn Necklace**

_( Summery: Harry's a dragon, and his first rider dies. _

_ Time Period: _ _Post DH (With or without Epilogue, doesn't matter here), During His Majesty's Dragon._

_ Prompter: _ _Anonymous on Tumblr_

**_ Warnings _ ** _ : _ _Rebirth fic, Character Death, Violence, Angst Like Whoa, and Personal Failure At French Accents_

_Translations Done By:_ **titpuce86** _who will be doing any and all French Translations I need, since I fail at French, and Google Translate sucks major dick when I try and use it for more than three words._

_ Apologies: _ _To France, for my failure at French Accents, as stated in the warnings. To my readers, for making them cry. To the world, for killing so many trees because I used so many Kleenex while writing this._

_Sorry you guys.)_

He didn't remember much about _then_. The time before where he was now, inside his shell. He remembers... _emotions, impulses, ideas_ but not the _faces_ or, when he does, then not the _names_ , and most everything is _blurred_ and _warped_ and _strange_. He knows he wasn't like he is now, wasn't all navy blue and black, wasn't so sensitive to the light that sometimes pierced the murk of his confines. But, like he knows this, he also knows he has never felt so _safe_ , so _peaceful_.

When the murky world around him darkens more, and he starts hearing voices through his shell, he knows, thanks to those strange memories, that it is _French_ he hears, and ponders for a time over why he had hoped for _English_. The words, at first, are strange to him, but then start making sense. They talk about how his shell was hardening, how it was only a manner of weeks now, maybe a month or two if he proved to be stubborn. That the Lieutenants needed to be gathered, to see if he would choose one. Knowing, now, that his time within the shell was almost through, he settled in, and focused more, hoping that his strange memories would straighten themselves out, somehow, and that he could get a better grip on this _French_ stuff.

Time passes, something he can tell only by the steady darkening of the murky world around him. Finally, he feels prepared, ready, and the voices have, again, been dulled out. Carefully, he begins to press against the walls that surround him, legs and wings and head and back all straining. There's a crack, then more, hairline fractures in the thing that had kept him safe from the world outside, and then the shell about him is exploding outwards, and he was blinking rapidly in a room lit dimly by a few lanterns and nothing more. His tongue, a thick, forked, purple thing, flickered out, swiping over his snout and licking away some of the red-tinged mucus that laced his form as his moon-white eyes curiously observed the seven adult humans that were straightening, plucking pieces of his shell from their clothes.

Two of them were women, while the rest were all men, and he turned his eyes to the two with interest. One was tall and proud-looking, with olive-colored skin and dark blue eyes and black hair. She was tall and curvy, and had a sternness about her eyes and mouth that, for some reason, brought his mind the blurry memory of a middle-aged woman with her gray hair in a severe bun and square glasses, who always looked at him with the same, stern-yet-fond expression. Her nose was a little long, but sharp, like her cheekbones, and made her look noble and striking, for a woman.

The other was as different from her companion as night is to day. She was short and lean, small in waist and breast, with a heart-shaped face that wasn't exactly pretty but wasn't exactly horrible either. Her blue eyes were a bit too far apart, her nose a bit too upturned, and her ears a bit too big, but laughter lines edged her generous mouth and those eyes, and curly blond hair was cut close to her chin, a widows peak at the top made more pronounced, and showing off a strangely pretty forehead.

Out of courtesy's sake (something his strange, mangled memories insisted on), he gave the men a brief look over as well, but the only one that was close to interesting was a man with black hair and eyes and a pinched face that, for some reason, made him think of a creature called a ferret, and then of a rude little boy who was wearing the same expression. Once he'd given them and the tall woman a second, cursory glance, he locked his moon-white eyes on the blond woman and crawled off of his pillow-cradled... _nest,_ was the word that came to mind. He padded toward her and circled her once, curiously, and then sat in front of her, cocking his head to the side and staring up at her with interest. His head, he noticed, came up to her waist, and he took the opportunity to nudge her with his snout.

The laugh she gave, warm and startled and relieved, was a pleasing sound, and he nudged her again as she began to pet his head while carefully pulling pieces of eggshell off his face and neck.

“Hello,” he greeted warmly in French, and she smiled, crouching down to look him in the eyes.

“Hello, sweet one,” she cooed. “My name is Isabelle Aimée.” He smiled up at her, then paused.

“...I do not have a name,” he said, hesitantly. He peered up at Isabelle with hope in his moon-white orbs. “Will you name me, Isabelle?”

“Of course I will,” she crooned, scritching her nails against his still-soft scales just bellow the nubs of what would eventually grow to be his horns. She pondered for a few moments, and then smiled. “You're name shall be Bellamy, my beautiful friend.” He, Bellamy, gave an almost-purr of pleasure, and rubbed against her again, and ignored the part of him that mourned over the loss of his old name, even if he couldn't remember what it was.

He did not mind it, later, when some men measured him after wiping him down, while he ate. And he minded even less when they returned to place his harness on him, a shiny thing with dark leather and hoops and his name stitched into the side in dark blue. He thought he looked rather handsome and, according to Isabelle, she did too. He ignored the murmurings of the harness-men, as they left, talking about how it had been one of the easiest harnessing's they'd done in a long time.

Time passed, and Bellamy trained and grew and learned, with Isabelle at his side. He was in the Armée de l'Air, and was a Fleur-de-Nuit, a Flower of the Night. He and his Captain gained a crew of fifteen men, six of them riflemen, three bellmen, three topmen, and finally, three ensigns, or look-outs.

It was several months before Bellamy reached his full growth, and then he was a bit larger than normal, coming to nearly seventeen tons, opposed to the average twelve-to-fifteen. He was the largest Fleur-de-Nuit in the Brest Covert, which gave him special privileges, like getting to eat first at Dusk, when his breed was almost all awake, and getting the prime seat up on the wall to overlook the ocean as the sun sank below the horizon. Isabelle would often join him on these evenings, eating what amounted to her breakfast and watching the sun go down beside him. She thought his fascination with the sunset was amusing, but he didn't mind. She also found it strange when he got sad over the color of his eyes, mournfully telling her he wished they were green.

After that, she'd made a point to get him green things. She and the crew wore dark blues and purples, as was their responsibility as the crew of a nocturnal dragon, but that didn't stop Isabelle from getting him a necklace of hand-knitted balls of yarn in different shades of green, which he didn't hesitate to wear, despite the snickers and taunts he gained from some of the larger dragons.

They soon gained a patrol route with an older, more experienced Captain and Fleur-de-Nuit named Curtis. Their third time out, they even saw a bit of action, having come across a pair of British Yellow Reapers and an Angelwing that had gone off course, apparently. With the night on their side, despite being out numbered, Curtis and his Captain, Jean-Paul Ardant, decided that they should take the chance presented and signaled for Bellamy to attack, which he only did when Isabelle urged him to obey.

During the skirmish, one of Bellamy's riflemen managed to capture the Angelwing, but the two Yellow Reapers got away relatively uninjured. Curtis, however, had not come away nearly as lucky, and Bellamy was relieved that he was larger than the older dragon, and strong enough to be able to basically carry the other dragons weight by himself all the way back to the Covert, though he was trembling and exhausted by the time they reached it. Curtis was crippled, though, his wing joint broken beyond fixing, and was forced to retire. Bellamy himself was given a week to regain his strength, while the prize for the capture of the British Dragon was given to his crew, a significant amount going to the specific rifleman and his Captain.

The Angelwing, whose name was Adrastea, made for a melancholic sight, curled into a miserable ball next to a pair of Garde-de-Lyon brothers, their blue-and-red hide clashing with the golden-toned British dragons. Bellamy felt sorry for the female, but did not try and apologize. They were at war, after all. And besides, her Captain was alive and mostly well, imprisoned in the cells within the Covert.

“I do not think I would like it much, either,” the Fleur-de-Nuit informed his Captain quietly as they watched the sunset. “To be captured by the enemy.” She stroked his chest from her seat on his forearm, and he glanced down at her, moon-white eyes too old for his body for a moment. “But I think I would like your death much, _much_ less, my Heart.” She smiled and kissed him on the snout when he lowered it to press her more firmly against him, and they watched the sunset together in silence.

Two months after that, they were called away, to help aid the Emperor Napoleon in his latest endeavor to cross the Channel. A plan that seemed both clever and foolish to Bellamy, but he kept such thoughts to himself. He may be the least light-sensitive of his breed thus far, but the Emperor would not hesitate to have him beheaded for Treason should he be foolish enough to give voice to his opinions. He had seen two Dragon Executions already, and had no wish to find his own head placed within the Guillotines maw. But, in all seriousness, he could not see how well having dragons carry a bunch of boats over the Channel would work out. If the British had some dragon that they had been keeping secret, that had some sort of breathing ability like the Longwing's acid-spitting, and were able to get a good shot at the bellies of the ships, they would, most likely, break in half.

But mentioning this would instigate doubt amongst the troupes, and Napoleon was nothing if not insistent upon no dissension within the ranks.

The Battle of Dover, as it would come to be called, was the day Bellamy's world lost all its color.

It started out simple enough, if battle can be considered simple. He was the only Fleur-de-Nuit amongst the fighters, standing in as a guard on one of the “flying ships”, and protecting one of the rear dragons. When a Regal Copper smashed the boat to bits, killing the dragons and nearly knocking Bellamy away with it, the black-and-navy dragon decided he would do best to fly elsewhere, taking to the air and trying to stay away from a little Yellow Reaper that seemed intent on getting him boarded... Which it succeeded in doing, to his disgust, forcing him to leave the battle so that those on his back could fight it out, glancing back cautiously every few minutes in order to check, but otherwise keeping an eye on the battle. They were much closer to the English side of things now, he saw with dubiously, which would make the risk much higher of being badly injured-

“Better dead than captured!” Came a cry behind him in French, and his head snapped around to see on of his riflemen lift his gun and point it at Bellamy's head.

“No!” Isabelle shouted, and lunged into the path of the bullet, just as the man fired, seconds before he was run through by a sword. Bellamy felt his wings stutter as his Captain collapsed against his neck, clutching her gut and choking, blood flecking her lips.

“Isabelle?” He asked, voice unusually high, as he began to tremble in mid-air. The English won on his back, and the one who had run the murderous rifleman through was at his Isabelle's side, putting pressure on the wound, and looked up at Bellamy with a fearful expression.

_“You must land!”_ he shouted in English. _“There's no way it didn't hit her organs! Do you understand, you great beast?! LAND!”_ Bellamy gave a sharp cry, turned, and flew as fast as he could, wings aching at the sudden abuse. He flew them well over the battle on land and dove down into the heart of their dragons on the ground. Immediately, he laid down and looked back, face wrought with fear.

_“You must 'elp 'er!”_ He gasped in accented English, startling the men on his back, before the one helping Isabelle nodded and carried her down carefully. Bellamy didn't move, once they rushed his Captain into a tent with surgeons and got to work. He sat, still and silent, but for a few whimpers that escaped every once in a while. Time passed and the battle ended with the British victory, but still he did not move, moon-white eyes glued to the tent. He ignored all attempts to usher him away, and didn't so much as flinch as the dragon surgeon, Keynes, scrabbled about him, pulling out bullets and splinters from the ship the Regal Copper had destroyed, and sewing up gaping wounds he didn't even feel. He ignored all attempts to feed him, from British or his captured crew, and barely blinked. Finally, a man covered in blood slowly walked out of the tent, looking exhausted and grim. He walked straight to Bellamy and met his eyes, and Bellamy knew that, whatever he had to say, it was not good.

_“Can you understand me?”_ the surgeon demanded; Bellamy nodded.

_“Oui, Docteur,”_ Bellamy replied in French automatically. _“Va-t-elle s'en sortir?”_ The Surgeon gave him a shrewd look.

_“I don't need to know French to know you want to know how your Captain is.”_ Bellamy nodded sharply, and the mans face went grim again. _“I am going to be blunt with you,”_ he said calmly. _“I and the others have done all that we can, but it wasn't much. She is going to die.”_ Bellamy flinched and began to shiver as he bit back a roar. Making noise would only upset Isabelle if she could hear him, and he would not put his Heart through that. _“The most we can do now is give her enough laudanum to sleep through it.”_ Bellamy lowered his head.

_“Je vois,”_ he murmured gruffly. _“Merci, Docteur. May I 'ave zome time alone wiz 'er?”_ he asked softly; the Surgeon hesitated, and then nodded. After a few moments, Isabelle was gently, carefully carried out on a stretcher, and Bellamy almost recoiled at the ghastly, bloody ghost of his beautiful, strong Captain, laid low by one of her own soldiers. She smiled faintly at him, and he could already smell the drug running heavily through her system.

“Bellamy,” she greeted, voice slurred and weak, and the Fleur-de-Nuit collapsed more than he laid down.

“Oh, Isabelle, my Heart,” he said, voice strained and hoarse as he gently pressed his snout against her weakly lifted hand.

“It's alright, my Flower,” she tried to assure him. “I will be right as rain come morning, just you see! I would never miss a sunset with you, after all.” Bellamy closed his eyes tightly as she rambled, voice thick and slurred. Taking a slow breath, he opened his eyes and smiled sadly down at his Captain.

“Yes, of course, my Heart,” he said softly. “Ignore my worrying, you know how I am.” He swallowed once, heavily, but managed to keep his smile even as his moon-white eyes _burned_. “You will be well again soon, I am certain. These British have some excellent doctors.” She smiled dopily up at him.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” she asked him; he let out a low sound of pain, which, in her drugged state, Isabelle took as surprise. “Oh yes, ever since you hatched and poked your little nose into my stomach! I knew right then my mothers hope that I would marry was pointless. After all, what man could stand up to you, my Flower, who gave me the skies and taught me how to appreciate the sunset and was sad over the silliest things, like how your eyes aren't green.” Bellamy felt something wet slide down his cheek, but kept up his smile, now tremulous and half-broken, even as those bungled memories whispered _'Tears, you're crying._ ' and made him remember a pain that hurt just as this did, only instead it was for an older woman whose hair had once been red, who was smiling up at him with near-blind eyes and talking about the first time she loved him... no, loved _'Harry'_. It was just like this, and the fact that he remembered that _pain_ as well, only added to this one, yet made it easier to handle.

“I love you as well, my Heart,” he told the still rambling Captain, making her stop and smile. He brushed his talon gently against the top of her head, tenderly looking down at the second woman to ever own his heart so completely. “I would give you the skies, the oceans, the lands, the sun and the moon, if it would make you happy,” he told her softly, lovingly, even as more of the _'tears'_ slid down his face to splash onto his curled forearm, his free claw clenched against his heart, as if to hold back the pain. “I would give you the world and so much more, my Heart, my Isabelle.” She smiled sweetly up at him.

“Your love and company are all I need, Bellamy,” she reassured him, and he bowed his head as her eyes started drooping.

“Than you have it,” he told her softly, and again brushed her head with a claw. “Pray, rest now, my Heart,” he whispered. “You must have your strength for, for when you wake up in the morning, yes?” he choked out, and she murmured agreement and shut her eyes. He watched her quietly as she slipped deeper and deeper into sleep and, an hour later, watched as she sighed out her last breath.

Isabelle was gone.

And all Bellamy could do was bow his head and press the tip of his muzzle to her stomach, over the place the bullet had pierced, over the place he had touched when they first met...

And weep.

It was an hour before anyone could get him to move, and then it was a large, black dragon with bright blue eyes, who wrapped around him gently as Bellamy finally let Isabelle be carried away. His only request was that they buried her somewhere were the sunset was easily seen, and the Englishmen agreed easily enough.

“My name is Temeraire,” the dragon curled around him said quietly in French. “I am so very sorry.” Bellamy closed his eyes and bowed his head, his curved horns brushing the others chest.

“I am Bellamy,” he said quietly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Bellamy settled in the Dover Covert with little trouble, choosing to spend most of his time at his Captains grave, which had been placed on a hilltop over looking the sea. They had given her a sturdy cross, and over it the Fleur-de-Nuit had hung a painstakingly made wreath of green and blue yarns, knotted and tangled purposefully to imitate flowers. It had taken him days to make, and he had done it with a single-minded intensity that had worried the English that watched over him.

Today, though, was the last sunset he'd get to watch with his Captain for a while. He was being sent to the Breeding Ground of Pen Y Fan, where he'd probably just spend the rest of his days sleeping, eating, and reminiscing.

“You would have hated it,” he assured Isabelle's grave, before pausing. “Well, you would have hated it if I hadn't been there.” He smiled sadly and looked out over the sea, eyes locked on the setting sun, despite the fact it made his eyes ache a bit. After a few minutes, he began to hum, and then to sway a bit. Closing his eyes, he could imagine he was on the wall of the Brest Covert, and Isabelle was perched on his forearm...

But, his Heart was gone, and, knowing that, all he could do at that moment...

Was say goodbye.

And so, he began to sing, voice deep and melodious and sad.

 

_“Vole vole petite aile (Fly, fly little wing_

_Ma douce, mon hirondelle (My sweet, my Sparrow_

_Va t'en loin, va t'en sereine (Go off far, go off serenely_

_Qu'ici rien ne te retienne (There is nothing to hold you here_

_Rejoins le ciel et l'éther (Rejoin the sky and the ether_

_Laisse-nous laisse la terre (Leave us, leave the earth_

_Quitte manteau de misère (Leave the Coat of Misery_

_Change d'univers (Change worlds_ __  
  


_Vole vole petite sœur (Fly, fly little sister_

_Vole mon ange, ma douleur (Fly my Angel, my Grief,_

_Quitte ton corps et nous laisse ( Leave your body and leave us_

_Qu'enfin ta souffrance cesse (To finally end your suffering._

 

_Va rejoindre l'autre rive (Go join the other shore_

_Celle des fleurs et des rires (The one of Flowers and Laughter_

_Celle que tu voulais tant (The one you wanted so_

_Ta vie d'enfant (Your Child Life._ __  
  


_Vole vole mon amour (Fly, fly, my love_

_Puisque le nôtre est trop lourd (Because ours is too heavy_

_Puisque rien ne te soulage (Because nothing eases you_

_Vole à ton dernier voyage (Fly on your last journey_

_Lâche tes heures épuisées (Loose your exhausting hours_

_Vole, tu l'as pas volé (Fly, you have not flown_

_Deviens souffle, sois colombe (Become breeze, by dove_

_Pour t'envoler (To fly yourself away._ __  
  


_Vole, vole petite flamme (Fly, fly, little flame_

_Vole mon ange, mon âme (Fly, My Angel, My Soul,_

_Quitte ta peau_ _de misère (Leave your life of misery_

_Va retrouver la lumière_ _(Rediscover the light.)”_

_“Bellamy?”_ Came a hesitant call; the Fleur-de-Nuit turned his head to see Benjamin, the young man who would be escorting him to Pen Y Fan. _“I-It's time to go.”_ Bellamy turned his head, and gave Isabelle's grave one last, quiet look.

“Yes,” he murmured, standing and turning away. “Yes it is.” The wind followed him, lifting the wreath of yarn-flowers on Isabelle's grave, and making it flap in the air slowly, as if it were waving goodbye.

Bellamy did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cries) Oh, Goddess, this was hard to write!! (Sniffles) The song is “Vole” or “Fly” by Celine Dion. Thank you to all those that read this!


	5. Lost and Found Pt 1: The Egg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More thanks to HiddenByFaeries for this prompt, which helped me get out of the mini-rut I was in.  
> Will be more than One-Shot, like the other one, I don't know how many Shots, for sure, however.
> 
> Best Review:  
> MissDarkAngel280397 Said: I don't think I have ever cried this hard from a story before. It's just so sad. And you are amazing at writing. 
> 
> My Reply: I know, right? And THANK YOU~!
> 
> Featured Flame:  
> None Yet

**Lost and Found:**

**The Egg**

_ (Summary: _ _Temeraire wasn't the only egg found on a captured ship and, when he finds it, decides it would be best if it was his own._

_ Time Period: _ _After DH (EWE), During His Majesty's Dragon._

_ Prompter: _ **HiddenByFaeries**

**_Warnings:_** _Fluff, Protective!Temeraire, Mommy!Temeraire, Daddy!Maximus, Dragon Shenanigans, Vague Slash (As in, could be seen as such, but is not, technically)._

_ Apologies: _ _To parents everywhere, for all the Shit us kids put you through on a daily basis, both knowingly and not._

_Sorry, and We Love You)_

Temeraire poked very gently at the crate that an Anglewing and her crew had brought while the humans talked. It had strange symbols on it and, from the smell, had traveled by sea for a good portion of its existence.

“-some sort of Chinese breed,” he heard the Anglewing's Captain tell the Admiral, and Temeraire's newly grown frill straightened away from his head in sudden interest.

“Chinese?” He asked hopefully, startling the men talking below as he bent to examine the box more closely.

“Er, yes,” the Captain said uncertainly, blinking at the Imperial with bemusement. “Got it off a French ship, apparently, still soft to the touch. Still is, matter-of-fact,” he mentioned, and Temeraire was now stroking the back of his talon against the sea-roughened box with an almost obsessive gleam in his eyes.

“Hmm,” was all he said, however, and the humans cautiously went back to talking. Carefully, oh-so-gently, Temeraire worked his talons under the edge of the lid, and carefully pried it up, peering into the confines to see a decent sized egg, pearl-like in color, and nearly purred in happiness. Ignoring the sudden shouts of shock, the Imperial dragon lifted the egg, box and all, and took to the air, flying towards his clearing and ignoring the dismayed, angry bellows he left behind. When he landed, he swiftly dug a hole in the middle of his clearing, and began wriggling his talons in the dirt at the bottom-most point, making it soft and loose, before he oh-so-gently lifted the egg and its bedding out of the box and set it tenderly in the center. That done, the Imperial gave a happy purr-growl sound and curled around the egg, blue eyes bright and focused on it within the confines of the “nest”.

He didn't so much as twitch when people all but swarmed into his clearing, confident that they would have to literally climb over him before they could reach his prize. When one annoying man smacked his arm and shouted at him, Temeraire slowly turned his eyes to him, pinned back his ruff, and bared his teeth in a silent snarl, making the man pale and stumble away quickly in terror. Once he was well away, the Imperial returned his eyes to the egg, ruff relaxing and expression softening into something like adoration.

“Temeraire?” Laurence called hesitantly; Temeraire hummed and tilted his head slightly towards his Captain. “May I ask why you've stolen the egg?”

“It's a Chinese Dragon, Laurence,” the Imperial stated plainly. “I am a Chinese Dragon. Therefore, it's logical that I should be the one to care for it.” He turned his head, then to fully look at his Captain, and smiled happily. “Would you like to help me watch it, Laurence? I know it will probably be boring, but we can tell it all the stories about battles and treasure we can think of,” he said eagerly; Laurence smiled hesitantly.

“And, are you sure that... That you will not return the egg, dear-heart?” he asked uncertainly; Temeraire nodded.

“Oh, no, I will take very good care of it and, if we have to move Coverts again, I have even kept its crate, so that we can carry it safely.” He nodded again, happily, and returned to staring at the egg with intensity.

“Of course,” Laurence managed weakly, and soon all the humans drifted away from the clearing, arguing and talking amongst themselves as they did so. And hour later, Maximus poked his head over the trees to peer over at him, munching on a cow.

“What's gotten everyone upset?” He asked; Temeraire blinked up at him.

“I do not know why they'd be upset,” the Imperial told him honestly. “I've just decided to take care of this egg. It _is_ from China, and I am from China, and I do not wish for it to be alone when it hatches, you see?” Maximus blinked for a moment, thinking that over, and then nodded decisively.

“Makes sense to me,” he told the black dragon, who looked pleased. “Hold on a mo',” the Regal Copper said and ducked back down. A few minutes later, the larger heavyweight was pushing his way through the trees and into Temeraire's clearing, where he flopped down carefully next to the black dragon and peered down at the egg with slightly squinted eyes, head resting on Temeraire's back.

“...It's so tiny,” he rumbled; Temeraire hummed.

“It's about the same size that my egg was,” he informed his friend primly; Maximus hummed, staring down at the egg in curiosity.

“Do you know how to raise a child?” he asked; Temeraire opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it, frowning.

“Well,” he finally said. “I suppose it won't be _too_ complicated. Humans do it all the time, don't they?” Maximus shifted his wings in a shrug.

“There's usually two of 'em,” he grunted.

“What?” Temeraire asked; Maximus tilted his head on his friends back to look at him.

“Two humans,” he explained. “A female and a male, usually, though sometimes its only one or the other, but other humans help.”

“Oh,” Temeraire murmured, looking down at the egg with concern.

“...I'll help,” the Regal Copper offered; Temeraire's head jerked up, blue eyes wide and hopeful, and ruff perked up in surprise.

“Really?” He asked hesitantly; Maximus bobbed his large head.

“'Course,” the red and gold dragon replied easily. “S'not like I have anything more interesting to do or anything. Always kinda wanted an egg, you know,” he informed the black dragon, peering down at said egg and gently touching his nose to it, rumbling low in his chest in pleasure at the soft feeling.

“Well, then,” Temeraire said decisively, and nodded. “I agree. You can help me.” Maximus nodded.

“I'll be the father, and you can be the mother, just like humans do,” he told the Imperial, who hesitated, thought it over, and then nodded with a satisfied look.

“Very well,” he agreed. “But I am teaching it mathematics,” he warned; Maximus shrugged his wings again and settled himself against Temeraire more firmly, eyes falling half-shut and locked on the egg.

“And I'll teach it how to catch good cows,” he replied; Temeraire nodded in agreement, and shifted his tail so it curled around Maximus' own, before settling his own head down to watch the egg.

Berkley and Laurence were not amused when they found out.

But Temeraire and Maximus caught them both when they fainted, so it was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: REALLY short, I know, and no HP characters, YET, sorry. The next Shot will both be longer and have Harry in it, no worries!! It just may be a while before I get to it, sorry. All these chapters were already on my FF.N account, so I'm just updating what was already written... Love you guys ^-^

**Author's Note:**

> WHOOT! There we go. This was fun to write. Hope you enjoyed it!


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